


In Another Place, Another Time

by SpaceCowboy_1



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dissociation, I'm really not sure how else to tag this sorry, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, but like nothing really from canon is mentioned, just for worldbuilding ig, nothing graphic tho, umm i think is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 19:41:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29863092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceCowboy_1/pseuds/SpaceCowboy_1
Summary: Malcolm re-lives traumatic memories and dissociates.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	In Another Place, Another Time

**Author's Note:**

> If you search Google for "What's the best way to cope with re-living a traumatic event?" the first result is "project all your feelings and thoughts into an angsty oneshot of a character you like, but keep it vague and change enough details that it's not your exact experience", so I'm actually just following Google's advice here.

And suddenly, Malcolm was that very small, scared boy who wrote his z’s backwards. He was for the rest of the night. 

He’d felt like he’d maybe been back in that boy’s body for a while now, but this was it. He was back. He was back with the dirt under his fingernails, back with the stuffed animals hugged to near-death, with the muffled yelling in the walls, the disillusioned thinking that this was normal. And the grip on his wrists as he was dragged across the house. 

He’d been too afraid to look at the face who’d grabbed him and dragged him through the kitchen earlier that day, instead scrabbling at the walls with his one free hand. If he looked, it was real. 

And that’s where it stopped. It hadn’t even been an hour since, and already the self-preservation part of his brain that knew he couldn’t run out the front door, down the street, and off into the night, had kicked in and wouldn’t let him remember what happened after. It was blurry, touch and feeling more like a smudge, and the audio cut out completely. 

Malcolm was not there when his body ate dinner that night. Malcolm was not there in his childhood body, either. The two were one, and he was in neither. He was watching his body on autopilot from above, peering in through the lifted roof of a dollhouse. 

He shut it and walked away. Malcolm was gone. 


End file.
